


move it nice and easy (boy, you make me lose my mind)

by oncewewerezombies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternia-Focused, Alternian Empire, Biting, Bulges and Nooks, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Hair-pulling, M/M, Making a mess, Sleepy Sex, Sopor Slime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 11:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11508219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: ok feel free to ignore this bc I bet you're already sick to death of it with the RP but..... gamquius 18 (that good shit) - squeezedoutofmiracles18 - Morning lazy sex





	move it nice and easy (boy, you make me lose my mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squeezedoutofmiracles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezedoutofmiracles/gifts).



> Never tired of Gamquius.

Ain't often as you beat your matesprit to the wake up bell of an eve.

Might be because you ain't proper been to 'coon yet, but that's as good as near never mind. Church business, heavy shit. Been busy, worked your frondstubs to soreness and your soul to weariness, doing good works, getting things motherfucking up and done. You're surprised, actually, to find Equius all blissed out on sopor and still snoring when you finally come to respiteblock and his company. Bless his fucking busted up sniffnode and all that shit he got janked up in his breathing tubes back of his motherfucking face from trying to wrestle some motherfucking alien bot to the motherfucking dirt on a conquering sortie. Failed miserably. Been a good thing a kitty sister was out watching his back with her sharpy-sharp claws.

Anyway, you ain't thinking of things gone and past, you thinking of the now. Wriggling your way out of bloody vestments and stepping up to slide down into green tingling slime aside your sweetly slumbering bluebro. Lucky you both so close that you can share a recuperacoon, if you'd kept on track with some of your wrigglerhood imaginings, you would never have had the chance to feel how it was to sleep alongside a motherfucker.

Of course, sleeping ain't what's most in your mind right now.

You chirr a little as you ease in, soft and slow so that a motherfucker ain't gonna start swinging before he even wakes up. Can't help that shit, a troll's life ain't the easiest. Lot of motherfuckers who'd take advantage of some sleeping bastard, if they came along him alone and vulnerable. Good thing that ain't what you have in mind. Eqbro mutters something in his dozing, lip curling for a moment before slackening again in the softness of sleep as you put an arm around his firm waist. Ain't no motherfucker you've met that's as solid as your flushcrush, muscle and just that itty bitty bit of fat as to curve out the square of him. Enough to make his ass something that you're sure one night when you're of a mind, you'll write a slam poem to it. Every motherfucker ought to know and envy you having a matesprit with an ass like that.

You nuzzle in and kiss his soft throat, where he gives it up to you so soft and trusting-like, while your hand steals down his belly to stroke his sheath, tease his bulge out to play. Linger down a little further, and touch his sweet nook up, where you do love to be buried when you both have time. He's got this rumbling rasp to the back of his breathing that says he ain't waking yet, but some parts of him sure are. You nip a little, give him an edge of sharp to his dreaming thoughts to consider. 

"...mmm. Gamzee?" 

There's your wakedumb matesprit, getting himself together to answer and you relish the gasp as you ease a frondstub into his nook. Kiss at his throat as he leans his head back to give it to you, so easy when he's still half-asleep. Besides, if you get this done quick, you'll be finished before he complains about the fact that you'll need to change the sopor because slurry's got in it again, and you love that thought. Doesn't bother you if you wind up a little blue and purple stained where slurry and sopor mixed to form hide- staining dye. He does though but he's about to get up, so? Ain't no motherfucking problem here that you can set an ocular to survey.

"Yeah, my best motherfucking flushed?" You nibble, and thrust a second finger in on his groan. He kisses you back, soft and dreamy, and you purr into it, vibrato of arousal kicking it up a notch. Hard to move much, even as big built as the pod is to accommodate the immensity of you both. Shift yourself around a little, hitch your knee up over his hip and let yourself moan into his green-slicked hair as his bulge finds your nook. Clever things, bulges, got minds all of their fucking own and they know just what gets to feeling real good. Feels most motherfucking excellent, just that touch warm in you, and thick. You appreciate the fuck out of each and every bit of your matesprit, from his luscious long locks to his motherfucking walkerstubs. Speaking out of his hair, you get a good handful of it and pull, as you ease yourself down onto him and he shudders. "Missed you so," you croon, and feel the sopor ripple as you roll your hips to clench yourself down tighter onto the wriggling width of his proper blue bulge.

"It's been, hhahhh...a night, at most," he mutters, and those grasping fronds that you adore so, so clever and motherfucking capable, come up to grip your ass like they should. You nip the trailing point of his ear in approval and loosely wrap your arms around his shoulders. Kissing him again, as the two of you start to move in the best kind of sicknasty rhythms as you've ever motherfucking found. Ancient mirthful slampoets could get fucked, this was the beat that moved the motherfucking universe. From frog to pebble, a fucking dust mote floating in the most insignificant breeze, every inch of it.

"Still missed your atheist ass." He don't believe, ain't no matter to you but you like to twit him about each so often. Lifting yourself up, you sink back down in a way that makes him smother a moan against the shallow curves of your rumblespheres. Ain't never minded much that he's flat as a motherfucking board, got this hard shape about him that you love to scratch up. Only playful, mind, this ain't no pitch vacillating shit, you both got that out of your system a long motherfucking time ago. Ain't even worth thinking on. But thinking on the way he gasps when you sink claw through to his muscle makes you wanna do it.

So you motherfucking do, and he makes the most beautiful motherfucking sounds, the way you knew he would and had had a craving in you to hear.

"Nnngh, c'mon, give it to a motherfucker like I know you got the game to," you urge him, while your claws are fixed in his back and there's blue puddling across acid green. So he motherfucking does and you trill, feeling his bulge sink deep into you, your bulge pressed up between the two of you. Rubbing right against that motherfucking slab of a stomach, bare of any scar. All his scars are incifuckingdental, ain't mean shit. Maybe your matesprit ain't go looking for a fight, but he don't lose none either. Well, not loath to lose many, every so often you know you've had your pusher right up in your windchute but so far he's come through clean.

One of these nights, you're really going to have him to pin him the fuck down about what happened to his horn. Ain't like it detracts, lends a certain foreboding something to him. Says here's a troll who's faced near the worst and come through strong and better than most, but still. You wonder.

You nip to hear him moan. Always quiet when the two of you are fucking, like someone's about to hear. Like someone is going to cock an arching eyebrow of censure, of some kind as would fucking matter. You never keep a muffle on any of your own sounds. Any eavesdropping asshole will hear you being well motherfucking _served_ , and double fuck to them for missing out on what you got. You want to have them hear and get jealous, ain't like anybody got anything to motherfucking equal Equius Zahhak. The way he feels between your thighs, or under your bulge or the way he looks with a mouth silenced with pleasing you while he looks - _ahhhh_ \- motherfucking _up_ \- fuck motherfucking fuck!

He bites you this time, flatter teeth sinking into your shoulder and you groan and rut yourself harder against the squirm of his bulge. Thick, feels real good to a motherfucker when it gets way up into his nook. You moan, loud and full, and fuck down onto his bulge. You go to reach for your own, but his hand beats you to it. Strokes you, gentle and careful before going harder, the way you like it. You dig your heel into his thigh, holding your place against his hips as you two kiss, mouths meeting. Fangs grating. Tongues moving, singing your dual songs of pleasure as you both meet in a most sacred motherfucking union of bodies, nook and bulge, just as motherfucking praised by writ and script.

Get down and filthy with your pail-sided quads.

Get motherfucking riotous, oh my brothers and sistren, hear! Open up your motherfucking auricular clots and hear - because motherfucker do you pity your motherfucking matesprit, and so you should. And so you do. It's a thing that's close to your pusher, and you'll let any know. Quads are sacred, and you got to take pleasure in every part of them.

"Do you have to - hah! - preach while we're - we're -" Equius gasps as his hips thrusts up in the most motherfucking satisfying way, and you feel the words you weren't even conscious of having bubbling up into your squawkbox cut off with a moan. You chuckle, breathless, your bodies moving together in the sopor like tuskbeasts in the tide as you saw once, off your beach. Lazy, slow, but you two got so much more purpose to your rhythm. 

"Fucking?" you suggest as an end to his gasped out fragment of a sentence and laugh again at his huff, but you do. You do. He brings you to it, he makes you set yourself on holy fire, and ain't nothing he can do about it. Least he's not as shouty bout that shit as is a motherfucking rough diamond of yours. "Can say words as to how you're so fine instead..."

You die down into moans, getting too close to the end now to keep teasing him. He's got that look in his eyes that says he's close too, and you relish it. You like making him lose control, and you got the bruises on your hips and upper arms to show just how much you can. Isn't no motherfucking way as he'd bruise you up unless you shook a stoic motherfucker beyond bearing, but you love the thought. The look. Like seeing his marks on your skin, like an echoing of your sacred paint. Marking ground. Tightening your grasper-stubs in his hair, you moan as you spill noble purple out into the slime, hips hitching as you chase the last fragments of pleasure while he buries his face in your throat. Fucks you through it, past it, until he finally spills in your nook in a way you've had to cozy him up to being able to do without a bucket, filling you up in a way most motherfucking pleasant. You chuckle and croon, chirr, making all those low satisfied noises that a troll can make as you hold onto each other in the slime and let the pleasure ebb through you both.

Of course, he has to ruin that by starting to make displeased sounds. All ugh, and fiddlesticks, and this is disgusting, Gamzee, why, so you unwrap your leanness from around his body so he can climb on up out of the pod. You wheeze and pull back to sink into slurry-stained sopor as he tried to pull you out - damn his strength, because he manages to pull your upper torso up over the lip. Motherfucker. 

"You can't stay in that," he says, severe and foreboding, as though you didn't have him crying out just mere minutes ago. You roll your oculars at him, and sink back into the sopor until you're up to your chin in it. "Gamzee - _highblood_ -"

"Can too, motherfucking watch me," you murmur, and you can hear that your tone is sulky but you don't real care. You're tired, it's been a long night and a day even, you only just got in the sopor and now he wants you to get out? No motherfucking way. He hesitates, and nods finally. Good boy. Always knows just how far to push it.

"...don't stay in too long." He keeps watching you as you lean back, submerge yourself down into the sopor slime and let out a sigh. You're feeling good, all pleasured up in ways most familiar and loved, and you grin at him. Ain't even bothered to take your paint off yet, you'd hopped right in to get his night started the best way. And yours finished right the fuck off, like draining out the last guzzle from a Red Pop bottle. 

"Can stay in as long as a brother motherfucking wishes, this sinner's got leave," you boast, and feel your grin go sly at the edges. Quirk up, predatory. Not everyone brings out this edge in you, except for heathens and blasphemers, but you do feel a little toothsome sometimes when he raises his eyebrow at you like that. Look at him, thighs still painted blue and sopor dripping from his long beautiful-ass hair, and he's giving you a judgemental look. Blessed motherfucker, you pity him so. All squishy, right behind your thoracic struts. Shit's embarrassing. "Got you some too, but it don't start till third bell. So fuck off, then come back real soon, you hear, bluebro? Gonna have a real good time..."

"Oh."

Oh shit, caegar has motherfucking _dropped_ and that shit did not bounce. You give him even more of a grin, and roll your head round on your shoulders, feeling your spinal columnar support crack a little. Ooch. Yeah, you had a real need on to relax. And you're gonna drag that hidebound motherfucker of a matesprit of yours right along. Nice to know he'll listen to the reason you got to lay down on him, when it counts. 

"Soooo...?"

"I'll, yes. I'll go, and be back after third bell," he says, and you'd say he was babbling if it was any other motherfucker. But he's merely a little lost for words, and stumbling. He looks like you just gave him a motherfucking hoofbeast grub on a pretty pink platter and you love getting that look out of him. "And I'll...call for a troll from maintenance to come and drain the sopor and replace it. Maybe in a few hours."

"Aw, no need for that." You lift a hand and admire the way the multicolour slime gleams against your skin, and enjoy the way he just. Shudders. Sometimes you do like to get his goat. You just teasing, he's used to it. Ain't everybody who hooked up pale with a motherfucking meowbeast, he was well used to it long before your skinny ass turned up. "Nah, ok, I won't kick no poor menial motherfucker who comes to change the sopor in this pod out, not unless I'm still slumbering in it. Then I can't answer for the shit I do."

"That's...probably about as much as I could hope for." He slicks his hair back, and looks up at the wall before freezing in utmost horror. Whoops. "Fiddlesticks, I'm late."

You'd say you was sorry, but you ain't so you ain't gonna make no sounds of apology. Just kind of bubble sopor and sink back down as he flees to the ablutioncloset to get his hide rinsed and out, keeping your eyes a little on the shenanigans of him trying to get dressed in a hurry. Your bad, you guess, but it's just _hilarious as all motherfucking get out_ to listen to him stumble around and do that almost swearing thing he does when he puts his frond right through his motherfucking uniform's sleeve.

Hilarious, and adorable.

Not everyone gets to see your matesprit so flustered. Usually he's a wall, he's beyond motherfucking reproach. You're pretty sure most trolls think he's a good influence on you - fat motherfucking chance, you've been way more of a bad influence on him. And the more power to you, but it's just too much fun to pull at his strings when he used to be so straitlaced you could almost hear his breathing whistle if he even tried to slouch. You like to think you've been good for him.

You know he's been good for you.

Yawning, you subside into the sopor as he finally clomps out the door in his heavy boots. You've no doubt he's all to the motherfucking nines, all up and at them, uniform in perfect array. 

Ooh. You wonder if he's gonna remember about that bite you laid on the back of his neck? If he pulled his hair up the way he usually did, that shit is gonna be on display... You chuckle to yourself and close your eyes. If he forgot, you're sure you're gonna hear about it. Maybe you can make it up to him...later. Right now, you got a nice ache in your nook and a pleasing motherfucking lassitude calling you to sleep. And so you do.

Got leave and all, you can afford to relax. And soon you'll have your heart here to enjoy it with you. Ain't no motherfucker luckier than you.


End file.
